Hoarders: Buried in Seoul

This is not our apartment, but it feels like it.

"Culture and possessions, there is the bourgeoisie for you." - Thomas Mann



I know that you, my readers, will be relieved to hear that, after weeks of incessant whining eager anticipation, I finally have gotten exactly what I have been asking for:  the opportunity to challenge all the laws of physics.  By this, I of course mean that our furniture finally arrived and Mr. Logical and I have been busy trying to find places to put all of the stuff we packed to send to Seoul 6 weeks ago when we were back in our house in Texas and clearly delusional.

Now of course, Mr. Logical and the children are perfectly happy.  The boys, because they now have desks and chairs (it takes so little to make a child happy, doesn't it?)  Mr. Logical is happy because he now has not one, but TWO bicycles and all the tools he needs (plus extras in case of extenuating circumstances) to dismantle and re-mantle both of them two or three times a day, should he so desire.  

My astute readers will note that, while I pointed out that Mr. L and the children were happy, I did not include myself in that number.  And this is why:  I am in  the midst of a crisis. A crisis of my own making.

Those of you who were reading my blog back when we received our air freight may recall my consternation when, upon opening the boxes, I realized that they had clearly been packed by an imposter, because it was unthinkable that I could have been in my right mind while blithely choosing NOT to pack pillows, silverware, or trash cans.  During the dark and troubled weeks that followed, I comforted myself with the thought that the rest of our belongings would soon arrive, and that once again, order would reign.  Of course, I was mistaken. There is no possible way that order will ever reign here.  Ever.  We might as well just resign ourselves to two years of living like the people in that "Hoarders" show: sleeping in nests of fast-food wrappers and traveling on little paths through our musty warren full of outdated issues of People magazine, McDonald's Happy Meal toys, shoes belonging to deceased relatives, and  mummified cats.  

Of course, I am exaggerating.  We do not have a cat.

But we do have an inordinate amount of stuff, and as far as I can tell, during those last feverish days in Texas,  the conversations between me and Mr. L must have sounded like this:

Me:  Darling, what do you think? Should we bring the 4-foot didgeridoo that Son #2 made for his Australia project in 5th grade? It's such a conversation piece.

Mr.  L:  Sure, why not? We can lean it against the wall.

....and this:

Mr. Logical:  Hey, honey, what say we go ahead and bring the china cabinet and all the best china, even though we don't have a dining room in the new apartment?

Me:  Oh, absolutely! We can put the didgeridoo on top of it!

All right, the conversations weren't really that extreme (we stored both the china and the cabinet,) but I think I'm making my point, which is that we were both clearly certifiable when making packing decisions. The upshot of the matter is this:  we have an apartment full of things that:  1) we will probably never use and 2) are unlikely to need in the next 2 years.  The question is, why? Or, more accurately, what the hell were we thinking?

 I also have to admit that, while 50% of my dismay comes from wondering where in God's Green Earth we will ever put these items, the other 50% comes from wondering what exactly the choices I made reveal about the precarious state of my sanity.  I offer as evidence the following:

-43* bath towels.  That's right, 43. I counted.  For a family of four.  Now, I am all in favor of  being prepared, especially if you:  a) are a practicing midwife or b) have a lot of company, but neither of those descriptions apply to me at the moment.  So why did I bring 43 towels to Seoul?  We don't even have a linen closet.
- 16 blankets. This does not include the duvets already on everyone's beds.  Yes, I know Seoul gets cold in the winter and we've been in the Southwest for a long time, but it looks like I was expecting  to winter in the High Sierras in a log cabin with nothing but the livestock for warmth.
-all (yes, all) of the fake instruments that connect to the "Rock Band" video game.  My children do not play this game any more.
-a set of pate' knives with handles shaped like little turkeys, nestled in a green velvet-covered box.  First of all, we rarely if ever, eat pate', and, if we do, no one we know would have a problem with serving themselves pate' with a butter knife.  Now, I grant you, there is nothing in the world to prevent us from using them to serve Brie or spinach dip (we're rebels that way), but again, a butter knife would do.  Besides, to my mind,  the turkey on the handle really limits the season of use.  So we have pate' knives for pate' we don't serve  (but if we do, we can only serve it in November or December.)
-shish-ke-bab skewers;  20 of them, stainless steel, approximately 18" long.  We do not have a grill. 

-8 skillets.  Why 8? I use 2- maybe 3 at most - regularly.  Why didn't I put the other 5 in storage? And while I was at it, why did I bring a dutch oven (which I have used only 6 times in 20 years of marriage) and a deep-fry turkey thermometer? And two stock pots? What was I expecting? A chili cook-off?
-A pair of buffet lamps that stood on our dining room sideboard.  We did not bring the sideboard.
-8 coffee cups with matching saucers that are part of a china set that I no longer own.  These are the kinds of genteel cups you have coffee in after dinner when you've had people over, not normal robust mugs that hold normal amounts of coffee.  Needless to say, most of our friends would rather finish off the wine after dinner anyway, so we haven't used these things in years.  In fact, I don't even know where the packers found them.  On the other hand, our renters emailed us to let us know that all of our wine glasses  had been left behind on the top cabinet shelf in the kitchen.  There's some irony for you.
-a derelict CPU from Son #1's previous computer system that is of questionable vintage and/or function and has no monitor.  It has become an end table.

You'll notice that I have refrained from throwing Mr. Logical under the bus mentioning Mr. Logical's penchant for packing and storing large amounts of outdoor/extreme sports gear.  This is because I have learned, after 20 years of mostly-harmonious wedded bliss, that it is best not to expose your spouse's little fetishes idiosyncrasies in a public setting, but rather, practice forbearance.  So of course, I did not include on my list his ice-climbing boots (complete with crampons:  try fitting those on a closet shelf without hurting yourself), the 40-foot climbing rope, the cross-country skis, the three pairs of cycling cleats (must have the extra pair for mountain biking) the squash and racquetball racquets, and the full set of golf clubs.  The main reason I did not mention these items (besides the obvious desire for marital harmony) is because, unlike my 43 towels, 16 blankets and the shish-ke-bab skewers, Mr. Logical's sporting equipment  may actually get used.  However, storing it all has been challenging, to say the least.

But you can't fault the man for wanting to be prepared.

Of course, once the dust settled, I did what any right-thinking woman would do:  I started making piles to take to Goodwill.  I am probably the first (and only) woman in history to move hundreds of pounds of belongings to the other side of the world, only to immediately pack them up and get rid of them.

On the bright side, however, the problem of the pillows has been solved.  Did I mention that I packed 14?

*As of this afternoon, the count is up to 58, due to Son #1 having just now gotten around to unpacking a dresser and discovering yet another towel cache.  In my defense, at least half of them were hand towels.  That is all.